


Push

by fencite



Category: Glee
Genre: Bondage, F/F, Humiliation, Masturbation, Mildly Dubious Consent, Public Nudity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-17
Updated: 2014-08-23
Packaged: 2018-02-13 12:07:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 21,157
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2150175
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fencite/pseuds/fencite
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>GKM Fill. Rachel convinces Santana that if she's going to be her understudy, she needs to go through an initiation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Diverges from canon just before beginning of episode 5x09; also Dani and Santana not dating.  
> Story is mostly finished; will be posted as I edit it.  
> Original prompt: http://glee-kink-meme.livejournal.com/48822.html?thread=61936566#t61936566

Rachel finished her tea and set the mug down with a sigh. “Don’t you get it, though? I don’t really need an understudy. I have an excellent immune system, and always take good care of myself. What possible reason could I have to miss a show? Do they not have confidence in me?” She leaned back into her chair and closed her eyes. “I’m finally settled in with the rest of the cast; they know me, and, and respect me – I heard you snort, Kurt, I’m not deaf. They do respect me.” She glared at her best friend.

“Yes, I’m sure they do,” Kurt agreed. “And I’m sure it took time.” 

Rachel half-heartedly threw a spoon at him. “Just because I have sometimes been a bit of a high maintenance person does not mean that I am difficult to like.”

“Mm, no.”

“And plenty of people are just in awe of my talent.”

“Of course.”

“And I don’t need some new person ruining the delicate balance that I have set up in this show! I mean, what if she is friendlier than me? Or a better dancer? Or a worse dancer - oh my god, what if they have to dumb down my choreography just for her? Kurt, this could be a complete disaster!”

“Which is why they are auditioning, just like they did for you. Rachel, your producers don’t want to get a bad dancer or a bad singer for your understudy. And you get to sit in on the auditions, right? You can give your input right away. You are not the first person on Broadway to get an understudy. You’ll live.” Kurt got up from the couch and moved toward the kitchen, putting their mugs in the sink. “Besides, won’t it be nice to be able to take a night off now and then? Rest your throat, attend to emergencies, see your friends?”

“I see my friends. I see you all the time.” Rachel pouted, then heard the loft door sliding open and schooled her expression. It was one thing to be miserable around Kurt, but if there were guests around she would much rather appear professional and aloof. “Oh, it’s just you.”

Santana raised an eyebrow at her and pushed the door closed again. “And what a joy it is to see you, too. I do hope you’re having a fan _tas_ tic day.” She widened her eyes and gave a fake smile, then shook her head. “I hope I’m interrupting an important conversation to get that kind of reception.”

“Rachel is getting an understudy,” Kurt explained. 

“Which is completely unnecessary,” Rachel interjected. Kurt rolled his eyes.

“Oh yeah, I knew that. There were signs up at the restaurant,” Santana replied. “I’ve already called them – my audition slot is Friday at two.”

“What?!” Rachel yelped. This could not be happening. “Why in the world are you auditioning? You know Fanny Brice is Jewish, right?”

“Yes, I do. Luckily, I am an actress,” Santana replied sarcastically, “and am able to pretend to be things that I am not. You played Maria in high school; you weren’t worried then.”

“That was different. It’s a completely different situation. You would be a terrible Fanny. It doesn’t fit you at all! If you wanted to be in a show, I know one off-off-Broadway show looking for a chorus girl that would be right up your alley. She-“

“Shut it, Berry. I am awesome, and I am auditioning on Friday. You can’t scare me off. Now, I only have ten minutes to change before I have to actually go to work – you know, that thing that means I can pay my part of the rent – so you two ladies will have to continue this discussion without me.” Santana headed toward her partitioned section of the loft. 

Rachel leaned towards Kurt. “She can’t do this,” she whispered furiously. “This is my part! You have to tell her to back off!”

“Wow, there is no way I am getting involved here,” Kurt replied, looking nervous. “Just let it go. She’s only auditioning. And even if she does get it, she can’t take over; you’re still the main player.”

“Santana is a destructive force. If she even gets inside that theatre she will ruin everything good about it. I can get her to back down. I just need a plan.”

“OK, crazy. Just don’t tell me about it. Or do anything permanently damaging? No prison time. It’s not worth it.” Kurt stood up, and called out in a louder voice, “I’m leaving for class. Be nice to each other! If possible.” He waved at Rachel, then picked up his bag and headed for the door.

Rachel sat up straighter and stared at the wall. There must be something she could do to stop Santana from auditioning. Food poisoning would be temporary, but probably hard to control. She could hide all of her shoes? Childish. Pretend to be a sick relative and call her home. Hard to pull off, and maybe cruel. Damn it, plotting was hard.

What had Santana said? _You can’t scare me off_. Rachel scoffed. She could be extremely scary when necessary. What was Santana afraid of, though? She let her eyes drift around the loft as she thought about it. Santana liked being in control. She was the loudest, the meanest, the strongest when she wanted to be. Could Rachel make her feel weak and out of control? She thought about the locked box under her bed – maybe. Maybe she could. Her thoughts raced around, and then Santana came back into the living room. Here goes nothing.

“OK, let’s make a truce. You’re going to audition, and that’s fine. I’m fine with that. But when you get to the next stage of the casting process, you’re definitely going to chicken out. I know you, Santana.” Rachel crossed her arms over her chest – did that make her look intimidating? Yes, she thought so.

“What the hell; what next stage?” Santana walked to the sink and replied without looking at Rachel. “I’m already a better dancer than you, and I’m the only one of us with professional acting credits. I’m going to make the cut.”

Rachel frowned. “In a yeast infection commercial. It’s not like Fanny Brice has to go swaying around in fields – never mind. That’s not what I meant.” She took a breath. “I meant, before the rest of the cast will agree to you joining. It’s not just the director and producers who have to okay you.”

Santana finally looked at her. “Why would the rest of the cast be involved at all?”

“God, Santana. I know you’re new to the acting world, but you can’t tell me you don’t know this already. The Tasks? Capital-T Tasks?” Rachel put on her best condescending look. “It’s not like it’s a secret. I already heard Sylvia talking about which ones she would start with for understudies.”

“Spit it out, Berry. Just tell me what these tasks are. I’m not worried.” 

Rachel smiled to herself. Santana had stopped rinsing the dishes in the sink and was fully turned to face her. She had caught her. Rachel sighed dramatically before she spoke. “It’s like a hazing, personal to each cast. You have to prove to the cast that you’re worthy to join them. It’s standard for new cast members. If you fail, it gets reported to the producers and you’re cut.”

Santana was beginning to look concerned. Rachel wondered how much she knew about hazing.

“Fine, whatever. So I have to do some _tasks_.” Santana gave the word _tasks_ air quotes. “But everyone else has passed them; hell, you’ve passed them so they can’t be _that_ hard.”

Rachel shook her head. “I was one of the first people they hired. Only three people were ahead of me, and they only gave me two tasks. You’re behind at least twelve other people. Some of them will group up, but it will still be horrific. Even I might not have been able to pass with that many people working against me.” 

Santana narrowed her eyes. “Horrific, really? How bad could it be?”

“Oh no,” Rachel laughed. “I’m not telling you what mine was like. Besides, I might want to just use one of my tasks on you when it’s my turn. Oh yes, because as my potential understudy? I will definitely get to try you myself.”

“I’m not worried,” Santana said firmly. “I can take any ridiculous hazing you can throw at me. Let’s be real here – you couldn’t embarrass me if you tried. And I am now going to be late for work, thank you very much. Please pass on my ‘I fucking dare you’ to the rest of the cast, if you see them.” Santana grinned, and picked up her purse. “Enjoy your night alone.”

Rachel watched as Santana left the loft. She didn’t think her intimidation tactic had worked. Had Santana not heard of the horrible initiation rites created by sororities and sports teams? Being kidnapped and left naked to get home, being forced to eat truly disgusting things, drinking until someone went to the emergency room. Any of those things would have scared Rachel off, she was sure. But now she would have to create some hazing rituals specifically for Santana. 

She pulled out her phone and started a list. Number one – look up hazing rituals. She didn’t really want to make Santana physically ill, but there must be lots of ideas out there. Number two – get a disposable cell phone. Oh, and create a fake email address! Rachel smiled to herself – she was halfway to becoming a spy at this point.

Number three – get some help. She didn’t think Kurt would approve of her plan. But Pam in the wardrobe department might help her. They had been getting along well during Rachel’s endless fittings and adjustments, and she was among the younger people in the crew. 

Number four – some serious reflection on how to scare Santana specifically. But Rachel was confident - she had three full days until the audition itself. It was all doable.


	2. Chapter 2

Santana rubbed her face, careful not to smear her makeup. Her shift at the diner would be over in exactly twenty minutes, and she had one table lingering over their desserts. She shot a glare in their direction – didn't they know they were holding up her end of shift routines? How long did it take to eat pie, anyway?

She looked around the rest of the diner, nodding her head at Kurt who was clearing a table on the far end. His shift wouldn't be ending for a few more hours, and Rachel had rehearsal until at least six, so she was going to have the loft to herself for at least two glorious hours. Santana smiled to herself. A bath, maybe? Or she could call Dani and see if she was up for a hookup. Or – best of both words – masturbate while in the bath. She closed her eyes. When was the last time she had that much time with no one to interrupt her?

Santana started and opened her eyes, reaching into her pocket to grab her buzzing phone. Her slow-as-fucking-death table was still eating, so she turned her back to the dining room to check the message, which had come from an unfamiliar number.

_Your audition time has been finalized. Your tasks will begin now. Reply with the character you are auditioning for to confirm your understanding of this message._

Santana glanced around. So Rachel had been right. Hazing existed, even in the theatre world. 

It wasn't like Santana was a stranger to hazing. She had been a cheerleader, after all. They had done the “drink this concoction” and “wear this costume” things, but it had really been more to prepare the new girls for the reality of working under Sue Sylvester than to actual humiliate anyone. They had wanted to see how far the new girls would go to become cheerleaders.

But the way that Rachel had spoken about these tasks worried her. First, they were all adults, not high schoolers. And what was more, she didn't even know them – well, except Rachel. And would that be worse? Would Rachel craft a more terrible punishment because she knew Santana, and knew her weaknesses? Did she know what buttons to push?

Santana's slow table finally appeared to have eaten the final crumbs of their pie, and she went over to take plates and settle the bill. Once they were gone, she quickly wiped down the table and ran through her end of shift duties, still thinking about that text message. 

She waved at Kurt and the other servers as she left a few minutes later, then stopped just outside the door and took out her phone. She was going to do this. At least, she was going to start. She could always back out later if it got to be too weird, or too much. But really – she was Santana fucking Lopez. What could a bunch of theatre nerds do to scare her? She typed out and sent her reply.

_Fanny Brice. Bring it on._

******************************************************************************

Rachel paused in her end of scene pose until the lights went out, then straightened and stretched her arms above her head. Was she ever going to be less exhausted when going through this show? She walked off stage and grabbed her water bottle out of her bag, taking a long drink. She had maybe three minutes before the next scene was ready to go – bathroom break? Or maybe email. She picked up her phone, and noticed another flashing light in the pocket of her bag.

Right, the burner phone. But the light flashing – Santana must have replied to her message. Rachel swallowed nervously. Could she go through with this? She picked up the other phone and unlocked it. Santana had replied. She was in. Rachel took a deep breath. 

She unlocked her own phone and opened up the list she had begun the night before. She had five ideas for hazing, but was hoping not to have to use them all. But what strategy should she use? Hardest one first? But if that one didn't work, she wouldn't have anything worse to go on to. Better to start with easiest and move up if needed. Rachel had decided that one of Santana’s weaknesses was valuing the opinions of others. In other words, Santana liked to look good. She couldn't picture Santana going out in public dressed in anything but her best, and showing off her assets. Task one was built to target that.

She wrote out a text message and sent it quickly. Was she a terrible person? She hid the disposable phone in the very bottom of her purse and tried not to think about it. She would have to face Santana in just an hour or so; best to be able to keep a straight face.

The stage manager called for her, and Rachel headed back to get in place.

******************************************************************************

Santana lay back in the tub and closed her eyes. The music playing from her phone a few feet away was soothing and low, and she had used a good amount of someone’s bubble bath – probably Kurt's. He usually smelled good. She let her arms slide under the water and tried to clear her mind.

Brittany. Nope, not going there. Money. Let it go. Audition. Stressful, sure, but she couldn't do anything about it that second. Toes wiggling in the water. _Perfect._

She rested her hand on her stomach. She hated being single for this long. It had been weeks – _weeks_ – since anyone had touched her in a non-platonic way. She was this close to jumping Berry one of these nights. Her fingers twitched. _Interesting._ Of course, Rachel did have some good things about her. Probably took direction well in the bedroom. She let her fingers brush her pubic mound. As a singer, Rachel probably had good breath control, too – always nice for oral. Santana let one finger slip between her labia and move slowly over her clit. She rubbed her other hand over her stomach and up her side, passing over her breast, and hummed quietly. On the other hand, Rachel was probably a talker. Not a dirty talker, just loud. But there were ways to stop that –BZZZZ.

Santana started. Her phone. Fuck. She let her head thud back onto the edge of the tub and sighed. Was she curious enough about the message to let the getting-off opportunity go? Fantasizing about Berry wasn't her proudest moment. Maybe she should stop now, before the thoughts became mental bleach-worthy.

She sat up in the tub and reached for the towel she had left on the floor. She wiped her hands off, then carefully picked up her phone and swiped it open. Same number as before. She quickly saved it into her contacts list, then opened the message.

_Task One: Club night. Spend three hours at Club Awe tonight. Wear sweat pants, men's t-shirt, flip flops, no makeup. Do whatever is necessary to be admitted._

Santana frowned at the message. She hadn't heard of the club, but the same suggested swanky. Was this the whole dare? Wear ratty clothes to a fancy club? This was going to be easier than she thought. She re-read the message. “Do whatever is necessary to be admitted.” Probably tipping the bouncer would be enough, she thought. She would still look hot, even in awful clothing. She checked the time – she could finish what she started before anyone else got home. She tossed her phone away from the tub and lay back. Not Rachel this time, though. Maybe Scarlett Johansson would drop by – oh yes, that would work.

******************************************************************************

Rachel looked up as the loft door slid open, and smiled tightly at Kurt. “I hope you don't have plans tonight.”

He looked cautious. “I was going to Skype with Blaine; is this an emergency situation?”

“Well, yes, I think so. But you're just going to have to trust me? Because –“

“Kurt! I need your clothes!” Santana came into the living room and smiled widely. Rachel blushed and looked back at Kurt, who now looked suspicious.

“What is going on here? You can't have my clothes, Santana.” He dropped his bag onto a chair and sat down beside Rachel on the couch. “Someone explain, please?”

Rachel pressed her lips closer together. There was no way she was going to go first.

Santana rolled her eyes. “I just need to borrow a t-shirt. I was dared to dress down when going out tonight, and I just don't own anything that isn't drop dead sexy. It’s a curse. Come on, you must have something drab for laundry day, at least.”

Kurt glanced at Rachel, and she quickly turned away. “Yeah, I guess I can lend you a shirt. But that's a strange dare, isn't it?”

Santana shrugged her shoulders. “Nothing I can't handle. And I'm leaving soon, so if you guys are coming with you'd better start making yourselves pretty.” She walked off in the direction of Kurt's room, and Kurt jumped up to follow her. 

“Wait, is this the emergency, Rachel?” he called back over his shoulder. “I don't go out during the week, you know that. I have to preserve my schedule and my moisturizing routine, and that only happens when I get enough sleep.” He caught up to Santana and they both went into his room.

Rachel stayed on the couch and played nervously with her fingers. She hadn't planned on going out tonight, either, but she was basically forced to, if Santana was going. Someone had to watch, of course, and see if she followed the rules. And although Pam at the theatre knew some general details about her plan, Rachel was really the only person involved in this whole game. She would have to follow Santana during each of the tasks. And that meant clubbing, on a Tuesday. Darn it all.

Kurt and Santana returned to the living room, Santana now wearing a gray t-shirt that was much too big for her. She twirled in a circle. “Do I look dressed down enough? I can even put my hair up in some boring way. Come on, children, let's get out of here.” She flopped down beside Rachel on the couch.

Rachel sprang out of her seat. “Yes, wonderful, let me just go get changed. Kurt, come with me; I need advice.” She pulled Kurt along as she walked to her room. Once they were out of earshot of Santana, she lowered her voice. “I may have convinced Santana that this was part of a hazing ritual for the show; please don't tell her, but you have to come with me,” she said, all in one breath.

Kurt sat down on the end of her bed and shook his head. “You are insane. Won’t she notice that she’s the only one being hazed?”

“No, why would she? She wouldn't know any of the other people auditioning anyway. And I may have suggested that the tasks were all personalized…” Rachel let her voice fade, and turned to pull out some outfits. Kurt pointed at one of them without replying, and she quickly got changed. “It's all harmless! I'm just messing with her. I'm hoping she'll just be a bit embarrassed, give in early, and not audition on Friday.”

Kurt looked skeptical. “Do I need to repeat this back to you so you'll hear how crazy it sounds?”

“No, I am fully aware.” Rachel frowned, and sat down beside Kurt. “I just hate this. Santana always gets what she wants, and if she wants my job how can I fight her? So if I can just stop her before she starts, it's better for everyone.”

“Except Santana.”

“She won’t know what she's missing. You have to come with me. Please, pretty please?”

“Yeah, of course. But I'm leaving at eleven, no matter what. My first class is at eight tomorrow morning.”

“You are the most wonderful person I have ever met. Go get ready; I can practically hear Santana being impatient.”

******************************************************************************

Santana stood with Kurt and Rachel in the line for Club Awe. Judging by the crowd in line with them, and on a freaking Tuesday, it was definitely a fancy place. She stood awkwardly by the wall and checked out the people around her. Lots of black mini dresses, sparkly heels, dramatic makeup. She went to run her fingers through her hair, and stopped when she remembered the low bun she had tied it in. Damn, but she was feeling naked right now. Who wore sweatpants anywhere, let alone to a club?

And what if they got to the front of the line and she wasn't allowed in? What if the bouncer let Berry, _Berry_ , in, and not her? She had brought enough cash for cover, a couple of drinks, and a decent bribe if necessary, but it wasn't a huge amount. She was definitely not doing anything illegal. Or disgusting, for that matter. She had given up dicks long enough ago that she was just not going there. Was she going to fail this stupid task before it even started?

“Earth to Santana. Come in, Santana.”

She looked at Kurt and glared. “Shut it. What?”

“Line's moving. Are you sure you're OK being here?” Kurt furrowed his eyebrows, looking concerned.

“I'm fine, whatever. I know you’re a princess who couldn't imagine leaving the house without ten pounds of fairy dust, or whatever you put on every morning, but this is so not a big deal. I'm just annoyed at how many people are out here in the middle of the week. Don't they have lives?”

“Don't we all,” Kurt sighed.

“Just call Blaine anyway,” Rachel said irritably. Santana wondered how much of the conversation she had missed.

“No, it's OK. I texted him to postpone our date until tomorrow. He understands.” Kurt pulled out his phone, checked the time, and put it away again. “But we have been waiting for ages already. I'm ready for a drink, if we are going to be out on a Tuesday. Oh, moving, yay.”

The line moved, and they were finally at the front. The bouncer looked over Kurt and Rachel, but his gaze stopped at Santana. She swallowed nervously, then stuck out her chin. “Yeah?” she asked.

“You sure you're in the right line, honey?”

“I can read a sign. I know where I am. Thanks.” She tried to drum up her natural confidence, but it was just not working. Time to fake it. “I guess you don't see many girls _au naturel_ in this place.”

The bouncer shook his head and looked past her. “No, pretty strict dress code most nights. You look like you could be hot, but I don't think you’re meeting our standards tonight, baby.”

“Come on, you've got to be kidding me. I'm not wearing a skirt, what, is that it? Or showing enough skin?” Santana glared at the bouncer, who shrugged. “Fuck that. Rachel, any rules about keeping my clothes on?”

Rachel looked surprised. “Um, I don't know. No, I guess?”

“Perfect.” Santana pulled the t-shirt over her head and tossed it at Rachel, then unhooked her bra and slid it down her arms. She put her hands on her hips and tilted her head toward the bouncer. “Am I closer to your dress code now, baby?”

The bouncer grinned. “That’s more like it. I can appreciate a girl with confidence. You gotta put 'em back on to go inside, though, sad as I am to say it.”

“Fan-fucking-tastic.” Santana took the shirt back from a stunned looking Rachel and handed over her cover. “Come on, guys, I basically just passed the task. Let's celebrate.”


	3. Chapter 3

Rachel lay in bed the next morning after her alarm went off, staring blankly at the ceiling. Wednesday. She only had two days to convince Santana not to audition. 

Last night's debacle had convinced her that she was clearly underestimating her roommate. Santana hadn't appeared nervous at all to be out in drab clothing or without makeup. She had gotten herself into the club easily, and seemed to have a great time dancing and flirting the whole evening. Even in shapeless sweat pants, Santana had always had a dance partner, while Rachel sat on a stool most of the night, watching Kurt and Santana out on the floor. Not that she had felt like dancing. But the point of the task had been to make Santana feel nervous or unprepared or normal, damn it. 

She would have to step it up. Today's task was supposed to have included some minor nudity, but obviously that wasn't going to cut it. She picked up her phone from the night stand and opened up her list. "Go out in a short dress without bra or panties. At least one hour total, divided between mall, sidewalk, and coffee shop." But that wasn't going to faze Santana. 

Rachel ran through her own schedule in her head. Classes until 2pm, but late rehearsal, from four until nine. That wasn't much of a break to follow Santana around. Maybe not a mall, then. Just walking around a neighborhood, and then sitting down somewhere. Oh – oh, there was an idea. Rachel licked her lips. She knew just the place to send Santana.

******************************************************************************

Santana was just finishing her breakfast when she heard her phone buzz. She ate the last bite of toast and washed up her dishes before finding the phone. The first task had been harder than she expected, but only the lead-up. Once she was faced with having to get into the club and be comfortable inside it, she had been fine. But that waiting, that had been terrible. She unlocked her phone and checked the message.

_Task Two: Go for a walk, 2pm. From Spotlight Diner, walk three blocks North, two blocks East. Then stop for coffee at Henri's. Wear short skirt, heels, no underwear. We will know. Further instructions to follow._

She stared at her phone. What the fuck? Go for a walk? Going commando, well, whatever. She wore tight clothes; she was perfectly aware of the sacrifices one sometimes made for the line of an outfit. But this whole task seemed suspiciously easy. _Further instructions to follow._ That worried her.

She put her phone away and went to get dressed. She had some time to kill.

******************************************************************************

Rachel pushed her sunglasses further up her nose and leaned against the wall. She had left her voice class fifteen minutes early to get to the diner on time, and it looked like Santana was going to be late. It figured.

She carefully straightened the black jacket she was wearing, and froze as she saw Santana approaching the corner. She seemed to have followed instructions – the skirt was definitely short, and the heels were high. Santana looked around as she got to the diner, then straightened up and starting walking down the street. 

Rachel took a deep breath and followed her. Santana was walking confidently, but not quickly – her skirt was also tight, making her take somewhat smaller steps than normal. Rachel was glad of this; she didn't want to have to run to keep up. She stayed a few yards back, sometimes ducking behind other pedestrians as she went. Wouldn't it be great if there was a soundtrack playing right now? She nodded her head a bit as she mentally composed her spy theme, then realized she couldn't see Santana anymore, and ran a few steps ahead. There she was, at the crosswalk.

Rachel starting psyching herself up as she reached the crosswalk herself. She could do the next part. It was all part of the plan. The greater good. Well, her greater good. She didn't need to be embarrassed about it. Really, if Santana hadn't been so relaxed at the club last night, she wouldn't have needed to go this far. It was her responsibility to find out how to break Santana, and this was just the next step.

They had reached Henri's, and Santana went inside. Rachel walked instead to the bistro across the street, bought a bottle of water, and sat down at the very edge of the window. She leaned side to side a bit, until she was sure she was in the shade, then got out her phone.

_Task two, continued. Sit at the window, on a stool. Open your legs so we can see if you followed instructions._

Rachel blushed as she typed. The café Santana was in had a bar table at the window, facing the street, with five or six stools set at it. Two were occupied by men in suits, but the others were all empty. She waited anxiously until she saw Santana approaching the table with a coffee cup in her hand. Santana sat down gingerly on the edge of a stool, leaving two empty ones between herself and the men in suits, then twisted until she was seated properly. She set her coffee down, and, after a pause, slowly opened her legs.

Rachel cursed herself for not bringing binoculars, then shook her head. What the hell? She didn't need to see the details of her friend's vagina to be able to tell if it was covered or not. She squinted slightly, but was confident that that was indeed a naked pussy in the window across the street. Rachel smiled to herself, and opened the disposable phone.

_Good. We are setting a timer for ten minutes. You are to masturbate, sitting where you are, until the timer stops. Begin now._

Rachel watched as Santana took a sip of coffee, then pulled her phone out of her bag. Santana opened the phone and froze, then turned her head slightly as if looking around herself. Rachel leaned further back into the shadow, feeling nervous. Would this be enough to scare her off?

But then Santana put her phone down beside her coffee, and carefully slid her hand under the table. Rachel watched as her fingers appeared under the skirt – it must not have been too tight, if she fit her arm through the waistband, she supposed. Rachel felt her breath speed up. Santana's fingers moved first over the patch of hair at the top of her pussy, before sliding further down and between her lips. 

Rachel suddenly felt like a creep. Who did this? Who forced their friend to masturbate, in public, for unseen eyes? What kind of monster was she? She should just call it off. Santana would never forgive her, but she had to do something. She had to- wait. 

Santana's eyes were closed, and her hand was moving around from the wrist down, and were her hips writhing? Rachel leaned forward. Yes, she was definitely twitching at least, if not writhing. She was enjoying this. Santana's left hand was resting on the table, but was clenching into a fist. Her head fell back slightly, and it looked like her mouth was open. Rachel's eyes widened. It looked pornographic, and she realized that she herself was getting wet. She felt herself tensing up and forced herself to relax, swallowing hard. This was ridiculous. She did not get turned on watching other girls masturbate.

Except maybe she did. Santana continued rubbing at her pussy across the street, and it looked like she had at least one finger inside herself. Her legs were opening wider – Rachel watched as her skirt rode up high on her thighs. She must look amazing from up close. Rachel glanced at the café around Santana, and realized that she had an audience – the men at the far end of the bar table were watching her openly. Did Santana know? Was she making noises? _Oh god,_ Rachel was ready to burst. She looked back at Santana, who didn't seem aware of the scrutiny from beside her. Santana licked her lips. And the alarm on Rachel's phone went off. 

Rachel took a shuddering breath, opened the disposable phone, and texted Santana.

_Time's up. Task two complete._

She closed the phone and watched the window across the street. She saw Santana's eyes open, and her hand move out from her pussy. Rachel watched as Santana stood up, carefully pulling her skirt back down her legs. Without looking at anyone, she walked back into the café, not coming out to the sidewalk for a few minutes. Rachel waited nervously. Would Santana try to find her, "them"? But Santana walked down the street as if nothing was out of the ordinary. 

Rachel pushed her knees together tight, feeling how turned on she was. If she left right now, she should have time to get off once at the theatre before rehearsal. And maybe to brainstorm some new ideas for these tasks. Maybe this could be more fun for both of them.

******************************************************************************

Santana let the door to the loft's bathroom slam shut behind her, closed the toilet lid, and sat down. What the hell just happened? In what world was she a person who masturbated in public?

And why the hell was she still so turned on? She quickly unzipped her skirt and pulled it off, sitting back down with her legs spread. She thought back to sitting in the café as she began running her fingers down her slit. Was it knowing that people walking by could have looked in and seen her? Was it knowing the people sitting around her might have noticed? Or was it knowing, for sure, that someone was watching, someone from the show who had been texting her. Was is the same person both times? Or had she had two different people checking up on her, making sure she was suitably embarrassed or whatever their goal was.

Santana thrust two fingers into herself, rubbing her clit with her other hand. She breathed heavily, shuddering. Someone had known, had been watching. Had seen her naked pussy through the window – from the street? From another building? – and had watched her finger herself out in the open. Her stomach muscled clenched, and she gasped out a breath. Had they been able to see how wet she was, how swollen her labia were? Could they see her shaking on the stool, wanting desperately to come but worried about getting her skirt or the stool wet, about leaving the café with her own juices dripping down her leg? She had been able to go into the bathroom to clean herself up enough for the walk home, but she could still smell herself the whole way. Was fully conscious of her arousal the whole walk home, waiting only for some privacy.

Although why? Why not just sit on a doorstep and finish the job? She had already done it once, sat in the middle of people she didn't even know, touching herself. And getting so close, and –

Santana came with a gasp, hunching her shoulders and trembling as she sat on the toilet lid. 

She let her hands fall away from her pussy, and caught her breath. Was this a kink, then? Did she have a thing for getting off where people might see her? Where people _would_ see her? She had had plenty of sex before, but had stuck to private places, or at least places with doors she could lean against to keep closed. 

Had she passed the test? Maybe the unknown person had expected her to come during those ten minutes. But that hadn't been said specifically. _Task two complete,_ it sounded like a pass. 

Santana stood up and removed the rest of her clothes, then turned the knobs on the shower. She had to be at work in under an hour, and needed to not smell like her own come by then. She could have an existential crisis later.


	4. Chapter 4

Rachel sat at the kitchen table and idly stirred her tea. She didn't have any classes this morning, and was taking advantage of having the loft to herself to have a slow breakfast. She knew that Santana was working the morning and lunch shift, and wouldn't be free for anything until after 3pm, when she would already be at the theater for rehearsal. She needed to think of a way to get Santana to the theater so she could do the next task. Not that she had a task in mind yet. She had decided to discard the last three she had planned – they were childish and would not have fazed Santana at all.

But that left her with nothing. And a few peaceful morning hours that should have been used for homework or scales that she was instead using thinking about her roommate. And how to scare her, or embarrass her, or maybe just get her off – no, that could not be her main goal. She was supposed to be stopping Santana from auditioning, not helping her sex life. 

So, what would embarrass Santana? Or shock her? Rachel sighed. Nothing. Santana was unshockable. Or, more likely, Rachel was not willing to go far enough to shock Santana. Maybe she should just change her goal. Maybe she didn't need to make Santana fail these tasks. Maybe instead she could convince Santana that working on this show would mean working with a big group of perverts. Because honestly, one of them had had her go out without panties and touch herself in public just yesterday. Who would even want to work with that kind of person, Rachel wondered? 

She took another sip of her tea. What other terrible things might these imaginary coworkers do to Santana? If she was working on the show, they could spy on her; check. Maybe make inappropriate jokes and comments? Hard to do from a distance or without revealing herself. They could mess with her clothing, or grope her, or –

Rachel took a deep breath. What if Santana was on stage and her costume started falling off? Or there was a peephole into her dressing room, or a two-way mirror? Or maybe she got caught sometime in the ropes backstage and couldn't move and then Rachel came along and –

Rachel pressed her hands into the table and shook her head. When did her brain start doing this? What had she unlocked? She had never been remotely interested in Santana before, and now all these fantasies were popping up without hardly any effort, and she was excited. Not just excited, but turned on; turned on thinking of her roommate being trapped and at her mercy. 

Did this make her a bad person?

Start small, Rachel, she told herself. What can I pull off this afternoon during breaks? She pulled out the phone.

_Task three: 7pm. Theater. Dressing room 3B. Put on clothing provided. Join cast for karaoke night. Drink anything put in front of you._

******************************************************************************

Santana walked quietly into the theater, listening for signs of whether rehearsal was still ongoing. It sounded like someone was singing, but not Rachel. Could be worse. She looked around, trying to get a hint as to where the dressing rooms would be. She hadn't been further than the entryway before today, and there didn't seem to be anyone around. She walked down a hallway and hoped for the best.

After only a few minutes of wandering, Santana had definitely found a backstage area or somewhere meant for performers, as well as a group of people. She looked at the faces, trying to figure out if one of them had been behind any of the text messages and tasks so far. No one looked at her with particular interest or curiosity, or guilt for that matter. She picked a tall man in a striped shirt and asked him the way to the dressing rooms. Following his directions, she was able to find room 3B with little difficulty. It was unlocked, and she slipped in and turned on the light. Room 3B was mostly empty, just a chair in the corner and a dressing table with a mirror beside it. On the dressing table was a small box – that must be meant for her.

Santana took the top off the box, and inspected the contents. Underwear? Really? She had dressed appropriately for a normal karaoke night – a comfortable dress and some low heels – and had expected to find a whole outfit to replace it with. But these were just black high-cut panties. How dull. She was a little disappointed.

She pulled the panties out of the box, and noticed there was a second, flat box underneath them, unlabeled. She set the panties down and pulled the second box open. A small silver thing. A vibrator! She dropped it back into the box. It was beginning to make sense. She looked at the panties again, and sure enough, there was a small pocket sewn into the lining right about clit height. She picked up the vibrator between her finger and thumb, turning it around, but could not see any way to turn it on and off. Which probably meant that someone else had control of it. She took a calming breath. That was kind of exciting. Shit. 

She licked her lips and looked around the room again. Nothing else stood out, so this must have been her parcel. She pulled the bottom of her dress up and shimmied out of the panties she was already wearing, dropping them into the now empty box on the table. She then inserted the vibrator into the new panties and pulled them on. They fit her snugly, settling around her hips, with the vibrator itself resting, as expected, right next to her clit. She walked carefully around the room, and noticed it shifting with her steps. It was going to be an interesting night. 

Santana closed up the box, turned off the light, and walked back to the backstage area. Most of the same people were still milling around, and Striped Shirt asked her if she had found the dressing rooms alright. She smiled and nodded. A small woman with curly blonde hair and thick glasses came over to her. "You must be Santana, one of the girls up for understudy?"

So people did know who she was, despite the earlier lack of reaction. Well, they were actors, after all. "I am, yes. I was invited to karaoke tonight."

"So nice to meet you, you have no idea! I'm Pam, I do wardrobe. This is Jamie, and Ben, Isaac, Priya, and Sophie. We're kind of the core karaoke crew, along with Rachel, of course. She should be here any time." Pam smiled and giggled through her introductions, and then took Santana's arm to guide her back to the entrance to the theater. "I feel like I know you already; Rachel talks about you and Kurt just all the time. And your hilarious high school antics, oh, I wish my high school had been like yours. She's so talented. I'm sure you are, too! I can't wait to hear you sing tonight. Oh, I hope you'll do a duet!"

Pam was interrupted by one of the guys, either Ben or Isaac, asking about carpooling or walking to the bar. A short discussion decided the group on walking, but no one moved to the exit. Santana stood by Pam's side, still very aware of the little bulge in her panties.

As she waited, she felt her panties vibrate, a low, steady buzz that made her jump. Oh god, that was nice. She shifted her stance, trying to get it further away from her clit, but to no avail. She swallowed, and tried to focus on anything else. The buzz continued, and she felt her body responding quickly. And then it stopped. Santana tried to regulate her breathing, and looked around the group. 

Jamie, IsaacOrBen, and Priya all had their phones out, and nearly everyone had a hand in or near a pocket. Fine, no answers yet.

"Hi everyone, sorry for the delay. I'm ready to go now!" Rachel's voice came from down the hall, getting closer as she rushed toward them. "Just had to do a couple tiny things. You have my full attention now. Are we carpooling?"

Pam caught Rachel up on the plans for the evening, then guided the whole group out to the sidewalk. Santana ended up walking beside Jamie, of the striped shirt, talking aimlessly about movies playing that weekend. Jamie was big into comic books, and had lots to say about the adaptations currently out. Santana hmm'd and agreed when needed, but found her attention primarily focused on her panties still. The delicious buzzing had not started again, but she was tense waiting for it.

It took less than twenty minutes to walk to the karaoke bar, which looked very similar to Callbacks, though not full of college students. Their group took up a round table in a corner, and Santana found herself seated between Priya and Pam on the corner bench. She had no intention of singing, so being trapped between people was fine with her.

Drinks were ordered, and Santana was introduced around to the group as Rachel's roommate and a potential understudy. She looked around again at the faces to see if anyone reacted unusually to her, but wasn't able to see any striking differences. Rachel looked a little flushed, but she had just finished a full rehearsal, so that was understandable. Pam was very eager to talk to her still; Santana decided it could be a cover for having set up the panties and vibrator plot or just her personality. 

Once they had been at the bar for about an hour, Santana was feeling much more relaxed. She'd had a couple of drinks given to her, Rachel and a few of the others had gotten up to sing without trying to make her join them, and the vibrator hadn't been turned on at all.

But then, without warning, it started buzzing again. And quickly got stronger. Rachel was still on the stage, singing some sort of torch song and making ridiculous faces; the rest of the group was turned to face her and generally quiet; for some reason, they all seemed to be in awe of Rachel. And that was lucky for Santana, because she wasn't able to modulate her expression right away. She hunched her shoulders in, squeezed her eyes shut, and opened her mouth as if to moan, then caught herself. She forced her muscles to relax, and spread her legs wider apart – no, that didn't help, close them, quick. She pushed her knees together and gripped her drink tight, then took a few quick sips in succession. She took in some short breaths, trying to get herself back under control before the song ended. As the backing track faded out, Santana was reasonably sure that she looked normal again – or maybe just tipsy. Red cheeks and bright eyes could definitely be blamed on the alcohol. Maybe she should order another drink.

Rachel returned to the table and sat in her chair across from Santana. "Do you remember that one, San? I did it in, what, eleventh grade? I like to think that I've gotten better at it. What do you think?"

Santana tried to focus on Rachel and not her clit. "You sounded great, yeah. I, uh, don't remember it from before, though. It –ah – was nice this time." She clamped her mouth shut so she wouldn't gasp. 

Rachel smiled at her. "That's so nice of you, Santana. We really should sing a duet tonight, you know. We never do duets anymore. I want to get you up on the stage and do something." She looked earnestly at Santana.

Santana stared. She was already turned on, so wet and ready, and now Rachel was talking about doing something, _something_ , and that was enough to bring her right to the edge. Rachel fucking Berry was going to get her off by talking about karaoke. This could not be allowed to happen.

"I have to pee." Santana pushed at Pam's shoulder to get her to move out of the way, and ran to the bathroom. She walked awkwardly across the bar, feeling the vibrator rub against her clit with every step, shifting and pushing in new ways. She made it into a stall and locked the door, falling back against it. Would anyone know if she took the panties off for some relief? Would her challenger for the day know? Or care? Could they tell? Maybe their goal wasn't to get her off, but just to disconcert her. She was feeling plenty fucking disconcerted, but was not, _not_ , prepared to come in a bar toilet stall. Just, no.

She pulled the panties partway down her legs, and gave a sigh of relief. It had been maybe five minutes of action, but direct clit vibration, surrounded by people who may or may not know what was going on – it was too much for her. She took some deep breaths, still involuntarily clenching her muscles. God, but she was wet. Maybe if she took the edge off now, before going back out? But no, that would still mean an orgasm in a bathroom stall. Sketchy. Not happening.

Santana pulled the panties gingerly back up her legs, and realized the vibrating had stopped. Thank god. She settled the panties around her hips, fixed her dress, and left the stall to wash her hands and splash some water on her face. She still looked flushed in the mirror, but at least she didn't look crazy.

She made her way back to the table, where Rachel was turned toward the room, looking concerned. She smiled when she saw Santana, and got up to meet her. "Are you feeling alright, Santana? Have you had too much to drink? I feel that I've given enough music tonight; we can go any time, if you want."

"No, no, I'm fine. Just overheated. I think I'll go get some water; do you want any?" Santana gestured toward the bar.

"Sure, that would be great. Are you sure you don't want to do a duet?" Rachel smiled.

"I'm sure. Next time, OK? When I'm officially your understudy." Santana winked at Rachel and walked toward the bar. She was trying to get the bartender's attention when the vibrator suddenly came back on, and stronger than before. Luckily she had been resting her arms on the bar, because her knees _buckled_ , and she gasped aloud. The couple beside her turned to look at her, and she tried to look like she was fine, all while her insides were on fire. She licked her lips and pressed her legs together as hard as she could, trying to control the sensations. 

Santana wiped her hand over her face, and feebly asked for two waters when the bartender made eye contact. She tried to take a deeper breath, and shuddered as she let it go. There was no way she could walk back to the table in this state. She started to look back over her shoulder, but could only see Rachel, who was still watching her. Santana tried to send her thoughts, _don't come over here, don't come here_ , but it did no good. Rachel walked over to her and put her hand on Santana's shoulder.

"Are you sure you're OK? Let me take you home, you look flushed. Do you have a fever?" Rachel pressed her hand against Santana's forehead, and Santana let her head sag forward into it. Then she pushed Rachel's hand away and turned to face her, wrapping her arms around Rachel's shoulders. She let her head drop down to rest against Rachel's, let out her breath, and the waiting orgasm washed over her. Santana squeezed her eyes closed as the tremors and aftershocks continued for ages, and then the vibrating stopped. She gasped in a breath, and let her body relax. She was still feeling shaky and held onto Rachel a moment longer, then let go and straightened up.

Rachel looked shell-shocked. Santana flushed harder, and looked away. What a fantastic friend she was; poor innocent Rachel would probably have nightmares about the time her roommate came all over her at a karaoke club. She looked back at Rachel to apologize; Rachel, whose pupils were huge and who was breathing heavily – wait, was she turned on? Was Rachel a big old lesbian? Or bisexual, Santana supposed? Then she mentally shook her head – not appropriate, Santana. Not the thing to think about right now.

"Actually, I think I will go home. Not feeling as great as I thought. Are you leaving now? We could split a cab." Santana picked up the two glasses of water from the bar and held one out to Rachel.

Rachel took the water and drank about half of it, then nodded. "Yes, absolutely. Let me just go say my goodbyes to everyone." She set the glass back on the bar and walked to their table. Santana drank most of hers, and walked toward the exit. Rachel caught up with her a moment later. "Everyone is sad to see you go, but looks forward to seeing you another time, whether or not you get the understudy."

"That's very nice," Santana said vaguely. She felt drained, but still somewhat euphoric from the orgasm. And then she remembered the panties she had left in a box in the dressing room. She would have to smuggle them out with her after her audition tomorrow. 

Santana sighed as Rachel waved for a taxi. This had been the strangest week.


	5. Chapter 5

Rachel sat in her acting class with two phones in her lap. Auditions were starting in an hour and she still hadn't sent Santana a task. Santana wouldn't be in until mid-afternoon, so she didn't need to rush, but she had hoped a grand idea would have come to her by now. 

But nothing. She couldn't think of anything. And she couldn't decide if she felt bad for what had happened at the bar the night before. It had been fun watching Santana squirm. And she had planned to stop it sooner, but then Santana had talked about actually being the understudy, and she'd gotten so _mad_ , and let it go. And that was fine! But Santana. She had just given in to her orgasm, let Rachel hold her up, let her body go. It was-

It had been beautiful. Rachel had been captivated. She wanted to see it again. She wanted to see it again when she could actually see it, and not just feel the motions of Santana's body as she came. She wanted to _cause_ it again. 

And now she couldn't think of anything. She would have to just give Santana a throwaway task. Give her a day off and come up with something amazing later. Or maybe this would be the end of the game. Congratulations, you made it to audition day? If she could sway the Rupert, her director, away from Santana entirely, it would be so much easier. 

She shook her head minutely, and picked up the disposable phone. Just send her something, anything. Whatever.

******************************************************************************

Santana stood backstage of the theater, wanting to pace. There were too many people here for pacing, and it was making her even more anxious. She felt overdressed in her trench coat, but the task for today required some stealth. The text had arrived late in the morning, and had been clear, if short.

_At audition, wear sheer clothing. Undergarments allowed._

She hadn't had many options for sheer, so she had taken a beach cover-up that had beads along the bottom, and had added a belt to make it dress shaped. Matching lace bra and panties made it into a fancier outfit, but still not one she felt comfortable wearing on the street. She had jingled and clacked as she walked and the beads shook, but at the least the trench coat had preserved her modesty.

But soon she would need to take the coat off and actually perform. From what she could see as people came and went, it was only a small group out in the theater – including Rachel Berry, of course – and she could only hope that they were all aware of the hazing tradition and would cut her some slack. She looked covertly at some of the other auditioners but couldn't see any obvious "task" clothing or modifications. Maybe they were all in the vibrator stage still. Thank god that hadn't been today. 

One more girl, then it was her turn. Santana leaned against the back wall, closed her eyes, and tried to slow her breathing.

******************************************************************************

Rachel was hyperventilating. At least, that's what it felt like. She was sitting next to Rupert in the middle of the theater seats, waiting anxiously for Santana's turn to audition. She had paid some attention to the other girls, but her focus just had not been up to its normal standard. Maybe Santana would be late, or would forget the words to her audition song.

Rachel frowned as she realized she had no idea what song Santana was going to sing. Actually, they hadn't spoken about the audition at all since Santana had first announced she was trying for it. Santana hadn't asked her for tips or help, but also hadn't asked for an in or preferential treatment. 

She looked up as the girl on stage finally finished her endless song, and walked off stage. Finally, Santana must be next. And there she was, walking out in – a trench coat? Weird. 

Oh. Santana took off the coat and Rachel suddenly remembered the task she had settled on for today. Santana was wearing a very see-through white dress with beads along the bottom, tied in at the waist with a belt. It looked like she was wearing a white bra and panties, too. The outfit made her look ridiculously tall, but also ethereal. 

And then the music started, and Rachel immediately recognized the opening bars of Don't Rain on My Parade. But Santana was making it her own – the rhythm was different, and she acted the words in a very different way from what Rachel always did. 

She smiled, almost involuntarily. Her best sabotage had made Santana's performance even more striking. Maybe she did deserve this job. 

Santana finished her song, and the director brought up their shared history, and Rachel was feeling zen. It was all going to work out.

******************************************************************************

Santana pulled the blanket more tightly around her shoulders, and slouched down on the couch. "Just because I'm closer to the kitchen does not mean that I am your servant. Get your own damn popcorn."

Rachel pouted. "Santana. You only just sat down. If you hadn't pretended to ignore me while you were actually in the kitchen, this wouldn't have been a problem." She had been sitting far longer, while the other slowpokes changed into comfier clothing for roommate hangout night. 

"I couldn't hear you. I have learned to tune out your chipmunk voice, and my life is much happier."

"Oh my god, I'll get the popcorn. Just don't press play yet." Kurt stood up, and Rachel smiled at him happily. Santana made a whipping sound under her breath, and Rachel smacked her leg. 

"So your audition went well today," Rachel said without turning around. "The director really liked you."

"Obviously. No one was put off by my dress? It's hard to pull off sheer, even with my legs."

"Sheer? Santana, why in the world would you wear sheer anything to an audition?" Kurt held the bowl of popcorn as he settled on the couch just behind Rachel. "It's not a good look with stage lights; I'm sure I've told you that."

"Well, I didn't really have a choice. The cast dare for the day was sheer clothing."

"The what?" Kurt goggled at her.

"It's like a hazing ritual for new cast members. They send me things to do, and then if I pass they OK me with the director and everyone. I'm rocking it." Santana grinned, and pulled the bowl of popcorn out of his hand.

Kurt nudged Rachel's back where she sat on the floor. "Is that a real thing?"

Rachel glanced at Santana quickly before turning to Kurt and raising her eyebrows significantly. "Of course it is. Don't you remember my hazing when I first started?"

Kurt gave her a funny look. "Yeah, sure. Now I do. Santana, wine? I think there's wine in the bottom of the fridge somewhere."

"OK, _that_ I will get up for, but only so you two can have the creepy twin conversation you clearly want to have." Santana pushed the blankets to the side of the couch and got up.

Rachel spun on the floor to face Kurt. "Remember the bar thing? I gave her fake hazing dares all week but it didn't work and she still auditioned so you aren't allowed to be mad at me, and you can't out me because of best friend privilege."

Kurt had begun opening his mouth but smacked it shut again. He rolled his eyes. "You're still hazing Santana. By, what, making her wear weird clothing?"

Rachel flushed. "Among other things."

"You are acting so strange right now, Rachel Berry. I expect all details, right now."

"It's gotten kind of weird, and sexy? Like, I maybe made her wear a vibrator to a club last night. Um."

"Alright children, time to stop talking about me. Let's get this show on the road. Real Housewives, yeah." Santana came back and sat on the couch, and Rachel pressed her lips shut. 

Kurt glared at Rachel and held up his phone at the side of his body. She nodded slightly, then turned to face the TV screen.

_K: A VIBRATOR_

_R: There was a reason for it! Everything just escalated really fast_

_K: Oh my god_

_R: It's fine! I just need to think of something for tomorrow. Oh, and you're coming to the house party with me, right?_

_K: No, we talked about this. This is my bonding weekend with Elliott. I believe we are gay clubbing tomorrow night_

_R: Whatever, I can go alone._

_K: Or you can bring Santana_

_K: Rachel?_

_R: I'm thinking about it_

_R: She does know some people from karaoke last night_

_K: Karaoke with the vibrator_

_R: Exactly. How do I do better than that?_

_K: And you're trying to scare her off?_

_R: Yeah._

_K: Are you sure you want to? Wasn't her audition good?_

_R: I don't know. It's a lot of work, to be honest_

_K: Then just let it go. She'll get it or she won't, but you don't have to be involved_

_R: You're so smart, kurt. <3_

_K: <3 _

"Are you pansies done writing each other love letters? Hummel, you really need to hang up your vagina when you enter the loft. It's skewing the whole balance of the place." Santana was pouring herself another glass of wine as she watched the TV screen. Rachel realized she had no idea what city, let alone what episode, they were watching, and put her phone down.

A moment later, it buzzed with 3 messages from Kurt.

_K: I changed my mind. She needs some sort of comeuppance._

_K: Have you found her shame yet? Try the Bridget Jones' Diary trick_

_K: By that I mean, tell her tomorrow is a costume party_

Rachel suppressed a smile. It wasn't the worst idea. She reached her hand backward without looking to try to pat Kurt's leg, and got his arm. Close enough. 

"Hey Santana, want to come to a party tomorrow?"


	6. Chapter 6

Santana stood in front of her closet (well, her stack of clothes) and glared. It wasn't summer yet. Who the hell throws a tropical party in the spring? The middle of winter she understood, and the middle of summer. The rest of the year, dressing up in grass skirts and bikinis was just inhumane. 

She opened her phone to re-read the text message. 

_Sophie's party. Your dress code is string bikini. Further instructions to follow._

This was another one with more, like the coffee shop. It did make her nervous. But so did putting on a string bikini and nothing else to take the subway to a party. She would have to layer and just take off the extras when she got there.

Santana dug through her clothes and pulled out a black two-piece bathing suit, some jean shorts, and a tank top. Sufficiently summery to appease Berry, plus the additional task demands. Sunglasses and sandals, and maybe a jacket – it was still April, after all. 

Her phone buzzed with an incoming message, and she set down her clothes to check it.

_Rule one: you are not allowed to discuss your outfit choice._

She furrowed her eyebrows. That was a strange rule. Not that she was talking about the dares with anyone, except maybe Rachel. And Kurt, who had a man-date and wasn't even coming to the party. She stripped out of the clothes she was wearing and began tying on the bikini. Her phone buzzed again.

_Rule two: if you are overheard talking about your clothing, you will lose them._

Santana read the message twice. If she talked about her clothes, or rather, got caught talking about her clothes, she wouldn't get to keep them? Or wouldn't get to wear them at all? Wander the party naked? She shivered. It was one thing to flash her boobs at a bouncer to get into a club. To walk around a party full of strangers while not wearing anything was not in her wish list. OK, don't talk about clothes at all just to be safe.

She finished getting dressed, grabbed a fake flower to pin into her hair, and went into the main part of the loft to meet Rachel. Who was wearing a completely boring dress.

"I don't understand you, Berry. You are the big star of this big show, and you dress like you're a missionary. Don't you want to show off your hot bod?" Santana shook her head and smoothed her shirt down. "I like knowing that people are appreciating me."

Rachel half-smiled. "Yeah, you and I are very different. I like being appreciated for other things."

Santana shrugged. "Your loss. Ready to hit the road?"

"Ready as ever."

After a subway ride and a short walk, they arrived at Sophie's house. Santana hesitated on the sidewalk, wondering about the bikini rule. Was she allowed to enter the house and show it then, or should she take the rest off now?

Rachel hadn't stopped with her, and was already at the door and looking back for her. "Are you nervous?" she asked with a laugh. "What happened to showing off your body? It's only shorts; I promise they won't judge you."

Santana faked a laugh, and caught up. "I'm not done my tasks yet, it seems. You might have forgotten about them, but they are always on my mind."

Rachel blushed. "Right. Good point. Am I allowed to knock?"

"Go nuts," Santana replied, already taking off her jacket.

Sophie opened the door with a big smile, taking in the two of them and offering to hang up their coats. She watched in apparent surprise as Santana also took off her shorts and t-shirt, and stuffed them in her jacket sleeves before hanging it up.

"Um, I actually don't have a pool," Sophie said, cautiously.

Santana looked around the room. Everyone else was in dressy clothing; tight fitting dresses or slacks and button-ups. And she was in a bikini. She looked at Rachel, who was staring back at her with wide eyes. But before she opened her mouth, she thought of the last text message. _You will lose them._

Instead, she smiled back at Sophie and said, "You have a lovely home. Thank you for inviting us," and walked into the main sitting room.

******************************************************************************

They had been at the party for almost three hours before Santana slipped. Rachel had been paying attention most of the time, listening to Santana's conversations with a corner of her mind but not really concerned, because surely Santana was smart enough to monitor herself. But also, Rachel couldn't deny, she was half hoping that Santana would screw up. It made her heart race a little, her mind fill with wonderful images.

She had never actually seen Santana entirely naked. They had been roommates long enough that she had seen most of her at some time or another, but never all at once. And now Rachel found herself curious. What better opportunity would she have than during this party, when she had this secret power to control Santana's clothing? 

So she listened, and waited, and hoped. And then she heard it. 

"No, it wasn't a statement. I just got the wrong memo about the theme tonight. You should see the suits I rejected!"

Rachel caught her breath, then pressed her lips together to hide a smile. She surreptitiously got out the burner phone, making sure her back was turned to Santana, and wrote a message. 

_Strike one, you're out. Leave the bikini in the powder room. You must say goodbye to everyone before leaving the party, no hasty exits._

She turned slightly away from her conversational partner, making sure to have Santana in her line of sight. She watched as Santana pulled her phone out of her purse, checked it, and blanched. Then she walked to the powder room.

Rachel felt her breath speed up. Santana must really want this job. Or she was really this confident. Either way, Rachel was excited. 

Santana returned a moment later, and conversation in the room stopped. Rachel watched as Santana's face blushed redder than she had ever seen it. She paused in the doorway, cleared her throat twice, then spoke. "I'm so sorry, everyone. I realize this is not normal party etiquette. There was a fault in the seams of my bathing suit. It was so nice to meet everyone, but I do need to go home now."

She then walked into the room, saying a quick goodbye to each person. Rachel moved toward the door to the hall, making sure she would be the last person Santana saw. She watched Santana's long, toned legs; her slim, flat stomach; her round breasts bouncing slightly as she walked. Rachel swallowed convulsively. Santana was gorgeous. She wanted to pause time right now; just freeze it so she could stare at her as long as she wanted. Would it be horribly obvious if she took a picture? 

But then Santana got to her, watching her with wide eyes. Rachel smiled carefully, and asked, "Home?"

Santana smiled in relief. "Home. But first, clothes."

******************************************************************************

Santana lay on the cushions that served as her bed. Her mind was empty.

That was a big fucking lie. Her mind was racing. She had been naked, completely nude, in a room of at least twenty people. When everyone else, _everyone_ else, was fully clothed. 

She could feel herself getting wet again. She had already come twice since getting home, once in her room and again in the shower. Now she was lying on her makeshift bed, thinking about the sensations of everyone staring at her, and wondering if she had the energy for a third orgasm. 

Probably. She likely wouldn't sleep until this crazy feeling was gone.

She ran her hands up her stomach and over her breasts, teasing at her nipples. Her nipples had been so hard at that party, even when she was in her bathing suit. Had Rachel known that it wasn't a tropical themed party? She was the first one to have mentioned it to her, but her dress had been a neutral green color, not necessarily tropical. And everyone was so formal, and there Santana had been, in a bikini. A tiny bikini, really; barely covered her nipples, let alone her full breasts. Somewhat better coverage in the bottom half, but still string, still almost nothing down her sides. She would have looked nearly naked all night to someone standing beside her. She shuddered, and felt her vaginal walls clench and release. Fuck, she wanted someone to just fuck her. She knew she couldn't risk noisy toys with these stupid curtains for walls, but maybe a dildo? 

She would try with her fingers first. She kept pulling at and flicking her nipples with her left hand and moved her right hand down to her pussy. She was soaking, as she knew she would be. Everyone had stared at her, had been able to see what only her sexual partners had ever seen before. She hadn't even tried to cover up with her hand; had just let them see all of her. At least she hadn't been spread out – she moaned; imagine if she had been spread out. Maybe immobile, tied in place so she couldn't move, couldn't hide herself as they looked at her. She thrust two fingers into herself and curled them up, knowing exactly where she was searching. 

She thought about Rachel's face when she had returned from the washroom, completely naked. Rachel's face that hadn't met her eyes, that had been focused on her body. She knew, then, that Rachel appreciated her body, was probably attracted to it; at least a little, at least subconsciously. Her cheeks had been red, and she hadn't looked up as Santana watched her. Rachel looked her fill, and Santana preened inside, and dripped juices down her legs. She let her left hand pinch a nipple one last time, then moved it to her clit; added a third finger inside. She thrust with more certainty now, with more drive. Imagine Rachel watching her now, seeing how she affected her. Imagine Rachel peeking in past the privacy curtains; maybe she had heard Santana moaning and wanted to see for herself; wanted to see everything. Santana spread her legs out further, her ankles resting on the edges of the cushions. She would, she would let her watch, let her drool over her body. 

Let her touch, let her add her fingers, _oh god_ , her mouth, it would be so nice. She could close her eyes and imagine Rachel's dark head leaning toward her, ready to give her all the pleasure she knew, and her fingers flew, and she came with a cry, squirting over her hands and the sheets, feeling her muscles twitch and spasm _so_ nicely as she came down, carefully petting the side of her clit, not overstimulating it. And then she took a breath.


	7. Chapter 7

Rachel waited nervously inside the theater. She had sent Santana a text earlier that morning asking her to meet her there, with no other instructions. She had a backpack with her, full of supplies, but wasn't convinced that Santana would show. It was all getting very intense.

She had lain in her own bed the night before, listening to Santana as she came at least twice. Feeling awkward and turned on and _jealous_. What had made her come? Was it just the prank itself, being stripped in front of all those people? Or was it a certain reaction or comment that had worked for her? Rachel knew she certainly hadn't commented on it – how could she? How could she say anything without betraying how much she knew about the hazing? _The "hazing,"_ she thought with scorn. The stupid initiation into a stupid theater group that she had invented out of anger and resentment, that was making her so stressed out and turned on and confused. And it was all her own fault.

Rachel was about to get out her phone to see if Santana had texted back when she heard her name being called. "Rachel! Oh hey, I didn't know you were in charge of this bit. Am I going to regret coming today?"

Rachel flushed. "Yeah, no, I'm mostly the messenger. I think they chose me because you know me best, and this is going to take some trust." She tried not to meet Santana's eyes, which was difficult because Santana was looking at her fixedly. 

"Trust, right. And the rest of it hasn't. Well, fearless leader, lead the way. I am at your mercy." Santana waved her arm grandly toward the theater door. 

Rachel felt like her cheeks had never been redder. "Yeah. We're back in the dressing rooms." She led them quickly to the back of the building, to room 5B, where she had placed the panties and the vibrator only a few days ago. This time, the furniture was a table and chair, no mirror in sight. She set her backpack down on the table, and indicated Santana to the chair.

"As you know, the decision is being made tomorrow about who will be my understudy. So tonight is pretty much your last chance to win the cast over." Rachel paused to clear her throat and try to remember the speech she had drafted. "It's going to be the most difficult, I think. And it does require some explaining, and some active consent on your part."

Santana frowned. "Active consent? Have I not consented to the other parts?"

"It's a bit different this time," Rachel replied, evasively. "Let's do this in order."

She pointed around the room. "This is your room for the day. You must stay here from 12pm until 4pm. Four hours, no less. You are allowed breaks if you request them, but if they exceed ten minutes total, time will be added on the end to make it up. This sign," Rachel pulled a piece of paper out of her bag, "will be on the door."

Santana looked confused. "Play room? Does it have a special meaning, or do I just have to play something for four hours?"

Rachel nodded rapidly. "Different meaning. You will be, um, restrained. To the table. Um, four points of restraint." She pulled some cuffs and a long x-shaped piece to connect them under the table out of her bag, as well as a dark blue tie. "You will also be blindfolded."

Santana wasn't smiling anymore, but she didn't look scared. So far so good. Rachel continued.

"Your job is to be the cast plaything for the afternoon. Your mouth will be free, so you are allowed to interact with people as much as you wish. And you will have a safeword, which you and I will agree on now, and I will post on the door. There will also always been someone listening in via walkie-talkie – no, you can't see where it's hidden, and that's on purpose – in case you need help when no one is here."

"That's a very comprehensive plan." Santana sounded neutral, but Rachel saw her cheeks beginning to flush. Anger or arousal?

"Well, you aren't the first one in here," she lied. "It's pretty standard."

"So you did this?" Santana asked, skeptically.

"Um, no," Rachel replied slowly, thinking of an excuse. "But that's mostly because the people in charge of my initiation were gay men and straight women. Not interested in this bit."

Santana's eyes were still narrowed, but she didn't reply, so Rachel kept going.

"So yes, four hours, restrained, safe word. Oh, limits. We have a basic set of limits – safer sex; no urine, feces, blood; only use the toys provided. Do you have anything you want to add to limits? Within reason, of course."

"Of course," Santana said with a shrug. "This is all reasonable. The toys provided?"

Rachel opened her backpack again. Her little locked box from under the bed was almost empty now. "Um, two vibrators, some nipple clamps, and a dildo. Average size, I think, shouldn't be too bad."

"Lube?"

Rachel pulled out a large tube and set it next to a box of condoms. "Yup."

"And who is allowed in?"

Rachel felt her face, which had calmed down, getting redder again. "Really just cast and crew. Higher ups are aware of it but never participate. That I know of. Usually you're not busy the whole four hours, there are downtimes."

Santana sat for a moment without speaking. Rachel watched her carefully, trying to gauge from her lack of expression what her answer would be. If she thought leaving now would mean losing the role, would she go? Of course, Rachel had no control over her getting the role now. She would have only had an effect if Santana hadn't auditioned. But she desperately wanted her to stay. She had built up this play time in her head, and didn't think she'd be able to move on without at least a few minutes with Santana. At her mercy. 

"OK," Santana finally said.

"OK?" Rachel repeated. "You'll do it?"

"Yeah. This had better be a fucking amazing role, though, for this amount of work."

Rachel grinned. "It is, really. You'll love it. OK, we're doing this. Do you have a safeword already?"

Santana shook her head. "Not recently; might as well make up a new one."

"Good; fine. How about McKinley?"

"Ugh, I definitely won't be thinking sexy thoughts if I have to say that. Sounds perfect." Santana stood up. "What time is it? Do I get a bathroom break before the clock starts?"

"Yes, absolutely. I'll finish setting up here," Rachel answered, still elated. It was happening. Santana at her mercy, four hours. She started putting out cuffs and arranging the straps under the table to meet them. Then she pulled the chair over and moved all the toys and implements onto it, to leave the table free for Santana. Then she waited.

Santana walked back into the room, still in her regular clothes, and looked at the table. "I'm guessing I have to strip first. It's going to be impossible to get anything off once those cuffs are on."

Rachel looked sadly at the cuffs, and agreed. Darn, she hadn't thought of that. She had really wanted to take Santana's clothes off herself. For next time, she'd have to – no, no next time. This was her only chance. Accept the mistake, and move on, Berry.

Santana was already out of her jeans and unbuttoning her shirt. Rachel wrote the word "McKinley" on the poster for the door, and taped it up. She knew no one was in the theater that day, but wanted to keep up the full pretense for Santana. She even had a CD player set up a couple of dressing rooms down, ready with several hours of music to make it seem like there were people doing things around the theater. Rachel Berry did not do anything halfway.

She turned back into the room, and Santana was climbing onto the table. Rachel's mouth went dry. She swallowed a few times, then went over to start fastening cuffs around her wrists and ankles, checking frequently to make sure they were comfortable. Once Santana was strapped in, Rachel did a final check. "You're sure about this. I can call it off right now. Or you can safeword any time at all. It can be a case by case thing – one safeword doesn't have to end the day if you don't want it; it can just end that person's time."

Santana took a deep breath, and Rachel watched her stomach move. "Yeah. I can do this. Bring it on."

Rachel smiled and wished she could kiss her. Where had that come from? Sexual attraction was one thing, but kissing? She licked her lips and backed up to get the blindfold. "Alright, Santana Lopez. Your final task has begun." She put the blindfold on her and tied it, then left the room.

******************************************************************************

Santana was bored.

She wasn't exactly sure, but she thought it was at least ten minutes since Rachel had left her alone, and not a soul had come in. She could hear movement around the theater, though, and some distant music, so maybe people were only just arriving. 

They'd arrive, and maybe they'd already know what was happening, and come check her out. Or they wouldn't know, and would see the sign on her door and have to ask what the deal was, and come in tentatively. Recognizing her from another day or event, wondering how far they can go, how she would respond. Maybe teasing her; maybe just going for it, without even foreplay. Maybe just looking. 

She swallowed, then took a deep breath, and another one. She wasn't nervous, exactly. Nerves were there, yes, but so was anticipation, and excitement, and frustration, and amazement. How had this random theater crowd managed to find out exactly what would hit her buttons? And so soon after she discovered it herself? They might as well have been living inside her head. And if today went even half as well as she could imagine, she would be just fine with it. 

She wiggled her toes around a bit, then froze. The door? Was that the door opening? It was. The door was open. Someone was there. Was she allowed to speak? Right, Rachel said she could interact as much as she wanted. But she was going to wait, and see if the person spoke first. She relaxed her legs again, and focused on her breathing. She could wait.

And the person did nothing. It was minutes before she even heard movement, and that sounded like the person walking closer, and then stopping again. Were they just staring at her? She felt her hips move slightly; her stomach rose and fell faster with her breathing. She had to talk. This silence couldn't continue.

But then there was a touch. Just a light one, along the side of her leg. Drifting up, gently, to her knee and up her thigh. And then back down, to her foot. Then the same touch on the other leg. Barely any pressure, just running up and down her leg. Santana shivered. The fingers ran back up her leg and continued over her hip and up her side, then out her arm to her fingers. Was this person drawing her? They traced over her collarbone, across to her other arm and hand and fingers, then back, and down her side.

Santana tried to breathe. _There_ , she thought at the person, _you've done the outside. Move along in_. And as if they had heard her, the person's fingers began sweeping along her stomach, up her ribcage, under her breasts, and then over the smooth skin of her breasts. Her nipples, already hard from being out in the air so long, felt like rock now. She was certain she had goosebumps. The fingers traced the skin over her breasts, and just barely brushed her nipples, but she jolted and gasped. Had she ever been this turned on with so little stimulation? She felt so wet, there must be a puddle underneath her. 

The fingers began moving down again, and she began to feel relief. _Good, let's get this over with_. They brushed over her belly button, lower on her stomach, through the patch of hair on her pubic bone. Her legs were already spread, but she tried to widen them further, to encourage the touch, to make it go farther. And it did – just down her slit, passing by her clitoris, down to her entrance, back to her ass cheeks. And then it was gone. The fingers were gone. She wanted to cry, but waited to see what would happen next.

But there were footsteps, and the sound of the door opening, and, "No! Please!" Santana cried out, unable to stop herself. "That's not enough!"

And the door closed. She was alone again.

This plan sucked.

It was a little while longer before the door opened again. The music down the hall was louder now, and she had heard several sets of steps pass by the door without stopping. But this time, the door creaked, creaked again, and someone was there with her. She decided that she would initiate conversation this time.

"Hello!" she said cheerily. "Welcome to the play room. I hope you enjoy your stay."

She heard what sounded like a snort of laughter, but then cried out as the person flicked one of her nipples. "Fuck!" Was that a punishment? Did they not want her to talk?

Oh, but now they were fondling her breasts. She would have to test this.

"I hope you like these. I grew them myself, mostly."

Another soft chuckle, then one nipple was suckled gently. Santana moaned. Clearly talking was OK.

"The other one is also nice, if you're curious." The mouth moved to her other nipple, sucking and licking at it. She stayed silent, except the occasional hum of pleasure, and the mouth moved on without her encouragement. The person kissed down her torso in uneven lines as their hands rubbed her legs and breasts and whatever they could reach. Santana moaned again as the mouth reached her clit and gave it a soft lick. A tentative lick, she thought. Was this a woman? Maybe new to eating out, and trying it on her for the first time. "Yes, there; harder," she encouraged the mouth, and it followed her instructions. She pushed her hips upward to the mouth, seeking pressure. "More! Suck on it, come on."

The mouth abruptly lifted, and Santana whined without thinking. But the person must have been trying to find a better angle, because it now felt like they were leaning between her legs rather than over her hip. And the new placement gave just the right pressure, so Santana rewarded them. "Yes, yes, that's it. Now a finger, please, a finger." She was such a good teacher.

Fingers started probing at her entrance, and one found it and pushed in gently. She moaned again, pushing back against the mouth and the hand. "So good, so good. More, please, another."

A second finger was added, and Santana squeezed down on them, trying to guide them to where she wanted them. She twisted her hips and pushed down, then pushed up to get pressure on her clit. "Come on, more, so good." The person seemed to get the hint and pushed down toward her more, and Santana cried out. "Yes, yeah, that's it."

She gave the person some more time, then asked for a third finger, and began giving directions. "Yeah, up, up, there, and yeah. Mhmm, curve up, up, yes! There! Keep it – oh." She twisted her hips around again and came with a sigh, relaxing her muscles all at once. She panted for a moment. "So good, you're so good, yeah."

She expected this person to just leave, but instead they got off the table and came to stand near her head. Were they going to kiss her? Then she would definitely know if it was a man or a woman. But not lips; wet fingers pressed against her lips. She sucked the fingers in eagerly, tasting herself, licking up everything she could reach. When the fingers were pulled out, she sighed happily. "Very nice, thank you." Was she supposed to thank them? She'd had a good orgasm, it only seemed fair. But there was a quiet huff of laughter, and steps walking away. "'Bye," she called.

******************************************************************************

Rachel stood outside the dressing room door and tried to catch her breath. That was amazing, beautiful, miraculous. Santana moved her body like it was the most natural, sensual thing in the world, and she knew what she was looking for, and the sounds – oh, the sounds. She had wondered if it would be enough to just see, just touch. But giving pleasure, that was so much better. Santana just sucked it right up, took everything and gave back immediate feedback. Rachel closed her eyes for a moment and imagined being on the table while Santana was in charge – oh god, that was nice. That would be good fantasy fodder. But now she had a real fantasy waiting for her. She needed a break, and she should really check and see if Santana needed one, too. She'd been there almost an hour already; she must be sore.

So Rachel got a drink, washed her hands, and walked back in confidently. "Hi Santana, it's Rachel. How are you doing?"

She saw Santana's body twitch a little, her hips shifting. Was she still turned on, recovering from orgasm? Or was this just knowing someone was in the room with her?

"I'm great, yeah. Could use a drink maybe?"

"Always prepared," Rachel laughed as she pulled a juice box out of her backpack, opened it, and put the straw at Santana's mouth. She sipped carefully, then let the straw drop. "Anything else? If you need to get up and walk, just call for me anytime, you know. I'm within yelling distance."

"Or the walkie-talkies."

Shit. "Well yeah, or those. Someone will hear you." She had forgotten she had said there were walkie-talkies. Stupid over planning. 

"Great. Can I ask you a question, Rach?" Santana sounded tentative, and Rachel became worried.

"Of course, anything."

"Are there many people here today?"

Rachel frowned as she tried to figure out what Santana really meant, and picked an answer. "I think eight or ten right now, doing various things. Why?"

"Oh, just, haven't had many visitors. Wanted to know what I might expect."

"Huh. I couldn't say, actually. It depends on peoples' schedules, I'd think?" Rachel smiled ruefully – how much energy and creativity did she have, pretending to be different people for Santana? At least two more, she hoped. "Do you think you can handle many more?"

Santana laughed lightly. "Yeah, so far it's been fine. I'm not overwhelmed or anything."

"OK. Well, I should get back to my rehearsal, and leave you for your next visitor. Have fun?"

"Right back at you, Rach."

Rachel went back into the hallway and closed the door firmly. Santana was happy. Santana was enjoying herself. Santana had come once, and was ready to come again. The deception aside, Rachel was happy with the outcome of her scheming. She decided to walk by a few more times before going back in, get her composure back. 

When she was ready, she opened the door quietly and walked in, trying not to make noise. But like the other times, Santana seemed perfectly aware that she was no longer alone, and seemed anticipatory. Rachel smiled at her, and decided to push her. This was a good time. See what Santana could handle from her. Starting with her toys. 

Rachel walked to the chair and picked up a small vibrator. She turned it on before she walked to the table, and watched as Santana's muscles tensed slightly at the sound. Did she recognize it as a vibrator, or just a new sound, Rachel wondered. She circled the table and began at Santana's feet, lightly running the vibrator over them as Santana giggled and twitched away. She continued tickling her legs, sides, the sides of her breasts, the undersides of her arms. By the time Rachel decided to focus on her breasts, Santana was limp from giggling and avoiding, but hadn't protested. Rachel lifted the vibrator off her body briefly, and let her take a few quick breaths. Then she pressed the vibrator hard against Santana's nipple. Santana arched her back high, crying out wordlessly. Rachel picked up the vibrator, waited a beat, then pressed it to the other nipple with the same result. She alternated nipples with teasing around her areolas and the roundness of her breasts, watching Santana's reactions and seeing how far she could go. When the arch stopped being so interesting, Rachel moved on. 

She drew the vibrator down along Santana's stomach and began teasing at her thighs, not quite at her pussy. She let the vibrator drift closer to and farther from her labia, watching as her thighs trembled, and she tried to control the jerking of her hips. Rachel took the vibrator down one leg then immediately brought it up and pressed it at the side of Santana's clit. Santana's hips shot up, flailing towards then away from the sensation as Rachel moved the vibrator around her clit, lifted it, then let it settle down again. She could see how wet Santana was, but waited. She wanted to see more. She kept the vibrator directly beside her clit and used her spare hand to push Santana's thighs as far apart as the cuffs would let them spread. She lowered herself down to eye level with Santana's entrance, and blew lightly on the lips to watch Santana's muscles clench against empty air. God, she wanted to be inside her. Not yet.

Rachel circled Santana's clit one more time with the vibrator, then removed it and got off the table. She watched Santana panting on the table, not talking and encouraging as she had the last time; just accepting the pleasure. She picked up the second vibrator, and tucked the nipple clamps into her pocket. Walking back to the table, she checked the speed on the large vibrator. Slow at first, she thought, and began running it over Santana's breasts. Her nipples were just so sensitive; it was lovely. Rachel knew from personal experience what clamps felt like, but she was sure her own nipples were not nearly so sensitive. She kept up the vibration for another moment, then pulled out the clamps and attached one to Santana's left breast, and paused. Santana cried out initially, but still no words. She pulled lightly on the chain attached to the clamp, making Santana moan. Rachel smiled. This was going so well. She attached the other clamp and locked the chains together. She wished she could take a picture, but she was sure that would be going too far. Mental picture, she thought. _Click._

She moved down to the end of the table and knelt between Santana's legs again. She first ran the large vibrator over her pubic mound and lightly over her labia, without dipping between. Santana's legs shifted, and she pushed her hips up slightly. Rachel hummed in approval, and ran the vibrator between her folds, picking up her juices and spreading them around. She set the small vibrator on Santana's stomach so she could use her other hand to hold open Santana's labia and admire her vulva. She wanted to lick it again, and it hadn't even been an hour. She could hold herself back; she had time.

Rachel ran the vibrator over her vulva a few more times, then tilted it up toward her entrance and slid it in. Not far, maybe an inch, but Santana gasped and pushed her hips up. Rachel rewarded her by drawing the vibrator out and pushing it in further, at a higher angle, trying to find her g-spot. A few more ins and outs and Rachel knew she had found it. Santana arched off the table and knocked the small vibrator to the floor, gasping. She gave it a few more pulses, then pulled the vibrator out and set it on the table as she got off. She picked up the small vibe, cleaned it off with a wipe from her backpack, and considered the table. She knew what she wanted to do, but it was going to be difficult if Santana moved that much. She hadn't brought any extra restraints with her – why hadn't she? What terrible planning. But she had an idea.

Rachel got back up on the table, one vibrator in each hand, and carefully turned around so that her back was to Santana. She knelt with her knees just outside Santana' thighs, then sat down on her stomach. Santana made an "oof" sound and Rachel glared back at her. She was _not_ that heavy. She shifted to get comfortable, made sure she could reach the table, and turned both vibrators back on. With her left hand, she slid the large vibrator back into Santana's pussy, angling it up again until she felt her stomach muscles jump. Then, with her right hand, Rachel gingerly brought the small vibe nearer her clit. She knew it was working when Santana nearly bucked her right off the table. She laughed under her breath, redistributed her weight, and positioned her vibrators again. 

This time, she was able to keep Santana's body from moving too far, while stimulating her in both places with vibration and movement. Santana was making constant noises beneath her – "Yes, yeah, oh oh, I, I yeah" interspersed with heaving panting breaths – which all seemed to be a good sign. She kept going, only grinding down slightly because Santana kept pushing up into her. God, she was wearing too many clothes. She slowed down her fucking with the large vibrator to make sure she was hitting the spot every time, carefully pressing the small vibe right beside her rigid clit, listening to Santana's almost endless whine in case it became too much. But before she could do much more, the whine stopped, and became a shuddered gasp, and Santana squirted all over the table. Rachel took the small vibe away from her clit for a moment, but kept stimulating her g-spot, and Santana squirted again, crying out with another gasp. Rachel sat up on her knees to make sure Santana was able to properly catch her breath, and began gently running the small vibe over her labia and near her clit again. 

Santana began shifting beneath her in earnest, so Rachel sat back down again, pressing her back flat against the table, allowing her no leverage with her hips. She turned the large vibrator up one more notch to its highest setting, and slid it back into Santana, gently moving it in and out as she got the small vibe closer and closer to her clit. She could hear it working. Santana was working her way up, "Ah ah ah, ahh – yeah, yeah – oh!" and Rachel could _feel_ her stomach muscles, felt herself being pushed up as Santana came one more time with a loud cry before she fell limp onto the table. 

Rachel turned the vibrators down but not off, and continued to play with them around Santana's clit and labia as she felt the aftershocks go through her. When she saw her hips moving again, away from stimulation, she turned them off and knelt up again. She turned around, and nearly came herself. Santana looked _debauched_ , her face red and sweaty, her lips bitten, her chest flushed, her nipples red – oh right, the clamps. Rachel bit her lip and inwardly apologized to Santana as she unclasped them one by one. Santana gave a weak "Ohh" to each one, but was clearly too drained to even complain about the pain. Rachel got off the table, dropped the toys back beside her backpack, and walked back to Santana.

She ran her hands up and down her sides, around her breasts, along her stomach. Up to her forehead, through her hair as much as she could. She petted Santana until it seemed that her breathing was back to normal. Then she got a soft towel out of her backpack and gently cleaned her up, ran her hand down her arm a last time, and left the room. She walked down the hallway for a few minutes, then forced herself to return.

"Hi, me again," she announced. "Juice? I checked earlier but you were busy."

Santana smiled weakly. "Please. And a time check?"

Rachel brought her the rest of the juice box, and pulled out her phone. "2:45. More than half done. You're still OK? There's no shame in leaving early; none of us will judge you."

"Yeah, but I'll judge me. I can make it. Thanks, though." Santana smiled in her general direction, and Rachel sighed happily. 

"Alright. You know how to reach me." She left the room. Maybe she should just leave Santana alone for the last hour and a bit. She looked so tired – that many orgasms at once are exhausting. 

But maybe she could just not worry about orgasms the next time. First, though, a break for her.

Rachel let herself go back after half an hour. She opened the door without worrying about being quiet, and closed it the same way. She walked directly to the backpack, picked through it a bit, then started taking off her own clothes. Once she was naked, she allowed herself to look at Santana.

Was she asleep? Or just breathing very slowly? She walked toward the table and noticed Santana's head shift slightly – good, she's at least awake. Then Rachel stopped to think a moment longer. How would she do this? Although the previous three "people" had all been acting out her fantasies as well, this one was particularly special to her, and she wanted it to be perfect. 

So Rachel climbed up at the bottom of the table and knelt between Santana's spread legs, then leaned forward and rested her weight on her hands, on either side of her face. She carefully lowered herself until she was nearly touching Santana's breasts with her own, nearly touching her thighs. Then she whispered, "May I kiss you?"

There was a pause, as if Santana wasn't sure if she was going to respond. Then just a puff of air, "Yes."

Rachel lowered herself further, until she rested on her elbows, flush with Santana at thigh, stomach, and chest, and could tilt her head to kiss her. She had known she wanted full body contact, not necessarily at the same time as sex, and was going to take advantage of this chance. 

Rachel's lips touched Santana's, and they moved together instinctually. Soft, pushing and taking, just enough. She tilted her head and felt Santana move her own, and then they were fitting even closer. Rachel was sure she could taste the apple juice still, and Santana's own taste, and it was exactly what she had hoped for. She let herself rest more onto Santana for a moment before recalling where she was, and rocking back onto her knees, breaking the connection.

Santana lifted her head to follow her, and Rachel couldn't resist dipping back for one more kiss. She lifted her head an inch and whispered, "Is there anything you want that I can give you?"

She dropped another kiss onto Santana's lips as she waited. Santana's response was equally quiet. "Be with me still. Again, just like before."

So Rachel shifted around, finding a place to rest her elbows just under Santana's armpits that let her just reach her lips with her own, allowing the rest of their bodies to press together on the table. And they lost time, just kissing. 

Rachel lifted her head, trying to guess at what time it was. Her phone alarm hadn't gone off, so time wasn't entirely out, but it could be close. She pressed two small, closed mouth kisses against Santana's lips, then sat up. Santana frowned but didn't protest. Rachel smiled sadly, and began her silent goodbyes. She kissed Santana's forehead, her cheekbones, her shoulders, the dip in her collarbone. She slowly worked her way down her body, kissing every part she wanted to remember, every part she might never get to see again. She tried to picture herself a week ago wanting to do any of this, caring this much about Santana. _Santana_ , of all people. It would have been unthinkable.

And now, she was reaching her calves and feet, and was ready to cry. She swallowed heavily and would not allow herself to sniffle. This was never a long-term thing. This wasn't even a thing she wanted a few days ago. This experience, hell, this afternoon, was more than she could have asked for. She stood again at the foot of the table, Santana laid out before her. She would get over this. It was a crush that she had recklessly acted on, but so out of character for her. It would fade. 

But maybe she should take a trip, somewhere far away, in the meantime.

******************************************************************************

Santana listened as the girl seemed to compose herself before getting dressed and leaving the room. She let her head thud back onto the table. God fucking damn it but she missed intimacy like that. She just couldn't get that with easy hookups and one night stands. She liked being able to fall asleep with a lover, snuggle up close to their body, feel safe. Not that she would have admitted without sworn secrecy, and probably a blood oath. But it was so settling.

She rolled her shoulders as best she could, and flexed her arm and leg muscles. It was going to be hard to walk after this. She wondered if the time was almost up, or if she would need to get through one more; she might have to safeword if anyone else came in. She was feeling tight, brittle.

But the door opened, and she could tell it was Rachel right away, before she announced herself. "Hello again, are you ready to be free?"

Santana sighed with relief. "God, yes. Get me out of here."

There was a pause, then Rachel came closer and started untying her blindfold. Santana thought about the pause, and realized what had been its probable cause. "Not that it was awful," she continued, as if it were the same thought, closing her eyes against the light. "I'm just in desperate need of a stretch, and maybe a burger."

Her legs were freed, and she carefully rotated her ankles and bent her knees. Are you allowed to feel old when you're barely twenty? Her arms came loose, and she rolled her shoulders and clenched her fists, making sure everything was in working order. 

"I'm probably gonna need your help to stand up," she called to Rachel, who seemed to be packing things into her backpack. Without washing them? Well, her problem.

Santana closed her eyes to wait, and was surprised when she felt an arm on her wrist. "Ready, princess?" Rachel asked, quirking her eyebrow. 

"As ever, my handsome knight," Santana laughed. She used Rachel's support to tip her body up into a sitting position, and to start getting dressed again. By the time she was getting to shoes, she was doing well enough on her own that Rachel went back to packing up the other materials. She stood by the doorway as Rachel wiped down every surface she could reach with wipes. Santana could picture her doing the exact same thing before she arrived today, and felt her cheek redden. No crushes, Lopez. You know your crazy roommate; her cleanliness should not make you coo.

Rachel grabbed the sign off the door, and turned around one more time to inspect the room. "Well, I can't speak for everyone, but the general consensus is you passed with flying colours. Which, of course, I knew you would do. As much as I might seem competitive and unsupportive, I do appreciate that you are talented and would do well in a show like Funny Girl. Understudy or not. "

Santana smiled sideways at her, but Rachel never made eye contact. She straightened up to walk out of the theater. "I appreciate hearing it from a fellow talented person. Thank you, Rachel. And now, I need to eat. Care to join me at whatever cheap diner we get to first?"

"Oh, thanks, but I have plans tonight. You go ahead, though, and I'll see you at home later." Rachel looked down at her feet, and then across the street. Santana was no body language expert, but she knew when she was being lied to.

"OK. Have a good night." She waved, even though she knew Rachel wasn't looking at her, and picked a random direction to walk off in, trusting that Rachel would pick a different one. Maybe what had seemed to be a truce this week was just temporary. Not that they had ever been very close, but they had at least been honest.

She walked aimlessly for a while, then chose a coffee shop to rest her legs. Yeah, she was going to need a few days to recover from that. She ordered a latte and sat in a comfy chair by a window to gather her thoughts.

A lot of things had happened today. Four people had touched her while she was immobilized, and she had loved it. Who knew? She would, if given a choice, have automatically chosen doing the tying, not be tied, but she had surprised herself. She liked not having the choice, not being allowed to contribute, having to accept the pleasure that was given to her.

She was still certain that the second person had been inexperienced, while the third and fourth were more knowledgeable. The first had just explored her body – could go either way. The third gave her amazing, just _amazing_ orgasms, holding her down when she would escape and pulling the sensations out of her until she was drifting and empty. But the fourth – there was emotion there. Had she lost someone? Or maybe she couldn't admit to herself what she wanted. It was full of deep feelings. And beyond all the joy and come and vibrancy, that quiet, intimate sadness was what was sticking with her. Santana wished, kind of, that she could know who each person was. Introduce herself, tell them each what she had learned about them. A sex therapist; she could totally do that. That might not be the right definition of sex therapist, but she was reading so much into how they treated her that they might not know about themselves. 

But, anonymity was the name of the game. Someone in that company was heartbroken, and someone was perceptive, and someone was exploring, and someone was learning. And she would never know them.


	8. Chapter 8

Rachel lay in her bed. She should get up. It was almost noon. She had skipped her morning class, and was trying to psych herself up to shower and get ready for a late afternoon rehearsal, but her bed. It needed her. She rolled over and tried not to think about the time or her responsibilities or her activities for the past week.

A body slid into bed behind her. She started and turned over. "Oh my – Kurt, I might have tried to kill you. You have to announce yourself."

"Good morning to you, too. You skipped voice this morning. You're going to start losing participation marks." Kurt rolled onto his side to face her.

"I don't care. I'll catch up, or tell her I had the flu, or whatever. I had important things to do." Rachel flopped onto her back to avoid Kurt's gaze.

"What's wrong? And don't say 'nothing,' your face is betraying you. Did something happen yesterday? I know it was your only day off this week."

Another body thumped onto Rachel's other side, and she turned her head to see Santana grinning at her. "Good morning, princess. We mortals have been awake for ages, awaiting your royal decrees."

"Why can't morning people just leave me alone," Rachel whined. "I'll get up when I need to."

"Well, this emergency roommate situation is happening now, so you have our support until you can scare us off." Santana grinned at Kurt as she spoke – and since when had those two been such great friends? – and Rachel wanted to smack them.

"Out, out, both of you. Go make me tea or something; I will get up and talk you to when you're not all inside my space making me feel claustrophobic."

Kurt looked at her narrowly. "You love feeling claustrophobic. It means people adore you."

"Go!"

She was pleased to see both Kurt and Santana move with reasonable speed when she gave in and yelled, but then felt too tired to move again. But they would just come back, so it was the path of least resistance.

She found both of them sitting at the kitchen table, with three mugs in front of them. She sat down and didn't say anything.

"So?" Kurt prompted.

"I have a guess," Santana replied. "It's understudy day, and you don't want to find out who will be shadowing you and preparing for your inevitable stage-diving injury."

Rachel frowned harder. She had forgotten entirely about understudies, except for where it related to Santana. Why in the world had she been so determined to stop Santana in particular? She should have focused on the whole institution. There was still going to be some upstart child trying to get her role starting today, and there was nothing at all she could do about it.

Kurt tilted his head. "Yeah, that looks about right. Sweetie, it's a necessary evil, and you will survive it. No one's going to be replacing you."

Rachel shook her head. "It's just a stressful day for me, guys. I'm not mentally prepared to let someone share this role with me, even in rehearsals. We start at three, so whoever they chose is probably getting her call anytime now."

Santana narrowed her eyes. "They've chosen someone already? Does that mean the cast has given their approval? Do you know if I passed all their tests?"

"Oh, um," Rachel searched for words. "I'm not sure actually. I guess they're leaving me out of the loop." She tried not to look at Kurt.

"Understandable; you've kind of been a wreck through this whole understudy process. Maybe the cast will meet during rehearsal today for final decisions." Santana wrapped her hands around her mug, then continued. "I bet whoever is chosen won't get a call until rehearsal has started."

Rachel nodded. "Yeah, that might be true. I'll ask around when I get there, if you want?"

"What a great idea! And you're sure yesterday was the last task, right? I mean, I shouldn't be expecting some new instructions today."

"Um, no, I don't think so." Rachel looked down at the table. Could Santana tell how much she didn't want to talk about this? 

"Alright, well, I need to leave to get to my shift. Rachel, are you sure you'll be OK?" Kurt put his hand over hers on the table, and Rachel looked up at him, pretending to smile. "You can always come with me, hang out at the diner until your rehearsal starts. You know Gunther won’t mind if you do a song or two."

"No, that's fine, Kurt. Thank you. I'm just going to run my lines through and have a hot shower. I'll get back to normal, I promise." 

"Wonderful; we're all perfect again. I'll come with you, Kurt. You can feed me free lunch." Santana stood up and carried the empty mugs to the sink. "Leave Berry alone to her sorrow."

Rachel rolled her eyes. At least Santana hadn't been permanently changed by what Rachel had put her through over the past week. "I appreciate your concern, Santana. I'll text you if I hear anything."

******************************************************************************

Rachel stood outside the theater with the disposable phone in her hand. She took a deep breath and looked down the street again. Rehearsal was going to start in less than five minutes, and she had no idea if the understudy had been hired already. She should just get it over with, tell Santana that she had passed the cast initiation. It wasn't going to make a difference to the director and producers – they would hire whoever they wanted. But to make sure Santana never questioned the hazing, Rachel needed to finish it.

She unlocked the phone. 

_All tasks passed. Congratulations. You will hear from the director if you are chosen._

She huffed out the breath she had been holding. It was over. She didn't have to pretend anymore. Santana would get the job, or she wouldn't, and it wouldn't matter. Rachel went to drop the phone back into her bag, but it made a sound. She frowned at it. Low battery? No, a message. _Oh shit._

_Yeah, I kind of figured that out. You might want to come to the stage._

Rachel tensed. What in the world was happening? Why was Santana at the theater? She must have gotten the job. Holy crap, did she get the job? And if she was already at the stage, how many of the cast and crew could she see right that second, and then she would know it was someone else texting her, and-

Rachel ran into the building and raced down the hall to the backstage area. She stopped outside the door to the performers' entrance and tried to compose herself. She put the phone deep inside her bag, then took it out and turned it off entirely before putting it back. She straightened her shoulders, opened the door, and walked calmly through to the stage door.

There was no one there. Rachel frowned, and walked to the middle of the stage, where a folding chair was set up at the front edge. And there was Santana, sitting by herself in the front row of seats. 

"Hey," Rachel said lamely. "Are you here for rehearsal, too?"

"Sit down, Berry. We need to have a talk." Santana spoke quietly. Was she angry? Rachel couldn't tell, it was so dark in the theater.

"Why don't we go back into my dressing room or something," Rachel began. "They might need the stage-"

"Sit. I checked with Rupert, and he said we could have the stage for half an hour to talk about the character of Fanny Brice while everyone else did note practice."

Rachel pursed her lips, but sat down. "So you got the job, then? Congratulations. Your audition was really good."

"Oh, I know. I got great reviews. But here's the funny thing – my roommate seemed really upset about my wanting this job. And just got weirder as the week went on. Was she just jealous? Possible. A crazy bitch? Also possible."

Rachel started to protest, but Santana held up her hand. "Not done yet, Berry. Let me tell you about the rest of my strange week. The cast – the normal, well-adjusted cast of this show right here – asked me to do some extremely bizarre things to, I don’t know, prove how much I wanted to work with them. And I got to know the people in this show, and it made me wonder: what the fuck was wrong with them?"

Rachel squirmed on her chair. Santana continued.

"But as I spoke to them, it started to seem like not all of them knew about these tasks, or about any hazing rituals at their theater at all. Fine, I thought to myself. A small subset of the cast were pervs, and the rest were normal. I could handle that. And the final task last night sure seemed to match up with that. And then this morning, I was woken up by a phone call offering me the understudy job." Santana stood up and walked to the stairs that led up the stage at the side. "And then Kurt said you had had a day off from rehearsal yesterday. And everything fell into place."

Rachel felt herself tearing up. "Santana, I can explain everything."

"Oh no, I understand. You faked it all. It wasn't that hard to grasp. And I even get why: you're crazy, and a control freak. And you can't back down and admit when you're wrong or fucking insane, and it all snowballed. So far so good?" Santana was now standing right in front of her, looking down.

Rachel nodded miserably. "I never wanted to hurt you."

"Yeah, I'm sure you didn't. But the thing is, now we have a debt to settle. Because I know this crazy hot girl who has seen me naked and vulnerable, has given me some amazing orgasms, and I haven’t gotten a turn."

Rachel's eyes widened, and she jerked her head up to stare at Santana. "What?"

"It's not fair. I am extremely upset that you have had all the control in this relationship and I've just had to take it. So now it’s my turn. Hummel was extremely easy to turn today at lunch, by the way. You really shouldn't tell him secrets. So I know where to find your little box of tricks, and tonight, I will be tying you to your bed and not letting you go until I am satisfied. I demand equal opportunities." Santana finally cracked a smile, and Rachel blushed.

"Are you being serious? You’re not mad at me? I know it was ridiculous and so inappropriate, but-"

"I was mad, yeah. But I'm over it. You may have found some of my buttons, but they say a whole lot more about you than they do about me. And I'm going to use that information against you. In a nice way." Santana pushed the chair Rachel was sitting in further away from the stage edge, then sat sideways in her lap. "And you have no say in the matter."

Rachel grinned. "Maybe I don’t mind the terms of your deal. I have tricks up my sleeve still."

"You just try to get me again. I dare you." Santana leaned in.

"Challenge accepted." Rachel tilted her chin up, and kissed her. 

-fin-


End file.
